More on The Curse of The Colonel

My brother-in-law Paul -- who used to live in Japan -- just e-mailed me more about The Curse of The Colonel. It was so roll-on-the-floor funny that I decided to post in in its entirety. It's got all of the necessary ingredients -- fried chicken, Shonen Knife, John Waters, the Colonel, and Mel Gibson:

Oh, that's for real, friend. The Hanshin Tigers are my boys, so this is painfully familiar territory. Did you know that I went to a Shonen Knife concert in Houston and the cute drummer (is there any other kind in a chick band?) happily signed the shirt I was wearing with the Hanshin Tiger logo and propaganda? They're from Osaka, so I correctly guessed that they would represent and bring strong Tiger love, even in America. Anyway, that concert was in 2003, the year that we (almost) went all the way.[ed. note: What's this "we" gaijin?]

As for the Colonel (and his "wee, beady eyes"), I can't say that I totally blame him. That Dotombori canal is about as clean as the Houston ship channel. To toss in a plastic likeness of someone is just a creative way of burning them in effigy, really. And why mess with the Colonel? That cat is straight-up Deep South Pimpin', with the fly beard and the cane. They should know better.

KFC has an odd relationship with Japan, actually. They've done a lot better than other American fast food places, with the exception of McDonalds. The KFC teriyaki chicken sandwich is one of the five tastiest things I've ever eaten. Like, ever. They're doing something right over there.

Another strange and great KFC-related thing: The Japanese have totally screwed up our holidays and traditions, which creates totally new memes and social conventions anchored to our religious and social calendar. The best example is Christmas, which the Japanese really enjoy. Since they aren't remotely interested in Jesus (or in Annual Gift-Giving Man, as John Waters might have you believe from the Simpsons episode), they focus on what they believe is the true meaning of the holiday: Romance. Christmas in Japan isn't about spirituality or religion or even family, it's about sharing some quality time with a girlfriend or boyfriend. I'm not convinced that married couples observe it, by the way.

Anyway, this brings us to strange Christmas tradition #2: To really observe the holiday, you must have chicken for dinner. I'm guessing this because they've seen enough sappy holiday movie content to have witnessed the prominent turkey dinner American and English families enjoy, but a turkey isn't something one easily finds in Japan. In fact, I believe that most people probably mistakenly believe that a holiday turkey is just a steroidally oversized American chicken. I don't think the Japanese really understand turkeys, anyway. The word for turkey in Japanese is 七面鳥, which translates as "seven-faced chicken." [ed. note: Isn't that King Ghidorah?] Now that sounds like a mythical super-chicken, not it's own proper species. So they don't eat turkey at Christmas, they eat chicken.

So what happens on Christmas Day, if you are a forlorn, bespectacled salaryman with no love life? You may not have a lady friend to call your own, but you can't just thumb your nose at tradition, so you pick up a bucket of Extra Crispy on the way home to your tiny apartment. Ayako once told me that the distilled image of loneliness is the single man getting chicken at KFC on Christmas Day, and several other Japanese people corroborated this. I think that's awesome. [Ed. note: Me too. I have a new dream Christmas.]

For one of the most insane KFC ad campaigns you'll ever see, check out this one, which both connects fried chicken to Christmas and cashes in on the (likely poorly-received) Mel Gibson film The Passion of the Christ (by the way, the text in that ad says this: when Christ was killed, Christmas was born.)

Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls!

Washington Post columnist E.J. Dionne made the following observation in his year-end column when sifting through letters from irate conservative readers:

“A reader from San Diego offered a view that was repeated in many different forms: ``Most liberals and some Democrats hate this president and will do anything to bring him down, including siding with terrorists against the president.

''And here is where I start worrying about our national mood. I don't mind being assailed myself -- even by a theologically minded reader who called me a ‘badly catechized Catholic.’ (Blame me, not the nuns and priests who taught me!) But when big chunks of the country begin to view their political adversaries as something close to traitors, we have arrived at a very dangerous time. For this badly catechized Catholic, it's a reason to pray hard for something better next year.”

That sounds pretty accurate to me. So many people in our nation believe that failure to side with Dubya on little things like habeas corpus and wiretapping are the moral equivalent of tucking Osama bin Laden into your guestroom with milk and cookies and copy of The Anarchist’s Cookbook.

Like this guy. But if flawed logic weren’t bad enough, check out this downright stupid metaphor:

“For some liberals, E.J. Dionne notwithstanding, it follows that they must do nearly anything to bring the Republicans and their president down, and that accomplishing this constitutes a higher priority than combating terrorism.

“Many modern liberals seem unable to say what kind of country they live in. Most of the time, they speak as if they inhabit Frank Capra's Bedford Falls--a dull, nosy, and somewhat puritanical, but basically decent place where George Bailey and the forces of good fight to a stalemate with Mr. Potter and the forces of evil.

“Deep down, though, they fear they live in Pottersville, minus the fun. The defense of Bedford Falls, for all of its flaws, would be a top priority; the primacy of defending Pottersville is less apparent.”

I mean, what the fuck? Did Mr. Gower blow up the World Trade Center? Did I miss that?

Let’s make it clear. I’m not fan of W, but let there be no mistake: I do not like terrorists. I fact, I think they suck. Wanna drop some bombs on ‘em? Great. Do it. Spend my tax dollars to do it. I’m happy to help. But here’s a hint: try Pakistan. Specifically up in the Northwest Tribal areas of Waziristan. He’s probably in a cave. He’s the 6-5 foot Arab dragging the dialysis machine and the AK.

Now go get him.

A Christmas story

Christmas stories are much like the day itself – filled with magic and possibility but ultimately a little disappointing. As a child you wait the whole year for that day and as it inches closer, you anticipation rises until you feel like you will burst by Christmas Eve. Then on Christmas Day, there’s that feeling of … well, not emptiness, but more “Is that it?”

Most Christmas stories are the same way. Unlike old George Bailey or Ebenezer Scrooge, most of us don’t experience a Christmas epiphany that leaves us glad to be alive and thankful for our time.

However, there is one story I know that captures this.

I met Karl King at an SPJ meeting a month or so after I lost my job a few years ago. I meant to do some networking after speaking on this panel about dot-coms and electronic media or something like that. But I already knew most of the people there and none had any job leads, so I ended up talking to this old guy who wanted to talk about his book. He had some interesting stories – he went into the Marines at 14 back in 1939 and ended up in a Japanese POW camp. He went back to school after he retired from years as a broadcaster and earned his Bachelor’s degree in his sixties. I thought I might be able to put together a story about him and sell it, something to pass the time and make a few bucks.

I met Karl at a coffee shop about a week later and spoke with him for two or three hours. And there he told me this story.

He told me many stories about his POW days – surrendering on Corregidor and going for days without food or water, burying the dead who had rotted for days under the merciless sun, beatings, malaria and living in the dark, hot hold of a freighter steaming from the Phillipines to Japan. However, when I asked him if he held any bitterness toward the Japanese about the way he was treated, he said no. Here’s why:

“A Japanese civilian. Mr. Miamoto, that I had worked under on several occasions, motioned for me to follow him. He led me to a corner of the shop behind some boxes. The little man had straight black hair and small moustache. His demeanor and body language reminded me of Charlie Chaplin without a cane. Squatting down on his haunches he wrote a little message using a piece of chalk. “12-24-42,” he wrote. Then he drew a Christian cross and box with a ribbon bow on top. With sign language and pointing to his writing on the shop floor, he had me understand that he was aware of our custom of giving a gift a Christmas time. With that, he produced a small paper sack and pressed into my hands his Christmas gift. It was a sack with about a teaspoon full of sugar. Mr. Miamoto indicated to me that I didn’t have to give anything in return. Back at camp that evening I heard several POWs recounting similar experiences, receiving gifts from cigarettes to candy. I later learned that Mr. Miamoto’s gift was his entire December ration of sugar.”

Karl explained that when people ask him if he was bitter because of the way he was treated by the Japanese, he would say no. He knew groups are capable of terrible things, but individuals like Mr. Miamoto were capable of great kindness.

Karl’s lack of bitterness is humbling. I’ve known people who have suffered far less and nurtured their anger and resentment far more. But not Karl. Instead he quotes Emerson’s essay on self-reliance. He doesn’t look at his life in terms of bad things that have happened to him, but instead in terms of his own strength and determination to overcome adversity. That is what I take from this Christmas story: many times you get what you are looking for out of life. We should all have the courage to find the joy and happiness in this word.

Merry Christmas.